


Hurt-Comfort and Joy.

by diemme



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Dom/sub Play, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-21
Updated: 2012-01-21
Packaged: 2017-10-29 21:22:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/324295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diemme/pseuds/diemme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A glimpse into Buffon and Iaquinta's relationship during a party at Nesta's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hurt-Comfort and Joy.

**Author's Note:**

> Dom/sub relationship with bondage themes.

Vincenzo always seemed to remember Mama’s advice too late. As Gigi pulled Andrea Pirlo off him he heard her voice in his head, _“Non andare dove non appartengono.”_ Don’t go where you don’t belong.”

Certainly he didn’t belong at Nesta’s party. Nesta hadn’t even invited him! Gigi had when he dropped by after training that afternoon.

“His wife took the kids to Rome for a visit. It’s just drinks, pizza and, knowing Sandro, video games. You’ll come?”

He _didn’t_ know Nesta, actually. One tournament and two matches a year was barely enough time for nodding terms with the most reticent man in Serie A. But it wasn’t in Vincenzo to disappoint Gigi when his keeper turned that clear blue gaze on him. It wasn’t in him to pass up an opportunity to spend time with his lover either and he’d agreed.

He dressed carefully that evening, mindful of Gigi’s likes; jeans, white shirt, dark green sweater and the spicy cologne he preferred. Later on Gigi’s eyes widened at the sight of him. His keeper pulled him close and kissed him almost brutally, his hands warm even through the cashmere of Vincenzo’s sweater.

Vincenzo had high hopes for the drive to Milan but the sight of Cannavaro and Del Piero grinning at him from the back seat of Gigi’s car brought him down to earth as though someone had tugged on his heels. His keeper caught the disappointed look, replying with a conciliatory glance of his own and a little shrug.

Coach and plane rides with his teammates had taught Vincenzo what to expect. The chattering, singing, seat kicking and laughing, mostly at Vincenzo’s accent, was bad enough. But the seat exchange after Del Piero protested Canna’s poking was worse. Vincenzo folded his large frame into the back seat gloomily and tried to ignore the defender’s chatter. Even trying to catch Gigi’s eye in the mirror was thwarted by Del Piero’s curious stare.

Nesta greeted him cordially enough if one ignored the slight lift of his eyebrows. It certainly wasn’t his fault Vincenzo was out of sync with most of the guests. Admittedly he gawked round the room at first; Albertini, Maldini, Costacurta, Inzaghi, Ambrosini, Oddo, Abbiati, Seedorf, Gattuso, Dida, Zambrotta, Zanetti, Materazzi, Pancaro, Crespo, Favalli, Mancini, Samuel, Baronio, Stam, Rui Costa. Vincenzo was of an age with most of them but they’d been getting the job done at the top level while he’d been playing with the boys in the Under 21s. Overwhelmed he hovered at Gigi’s side, sipped his drink and wished Gilardino hadn’t been sold.

Gigi was popular wherever he went. Vincenzo soon lost count of the people stopping to chat with his keeper and toss him a word and not much more. It was natural standing in the shade while Gigi occupied the limelight but it wasn’t pleasant being the overlooked child hanging onto his coattails. However, it pleased his keeper to have him near. Vincenzo plastered a smile on his face, accepted another drink shoved at him enthusiastically by Del Piero and got on with the business of hovering.

“Jack,” the owner of the voice, warm with pleasure, appeared at his elbow. Andrea Pirlo smiled up at him. “Now I have someone sane to talk with!”

Vincenzo gazed down at the midfielder, a mixture of relief and adoration in his eyes. During his Under 21 days when he’d been most self conscious about his height and size, feeling oafish and ungainly on the field and off, the elegant, compact Andrea had been his ideal. It had never been sexual even though he’d always considered the man handsome. Vincenzo deeply admired Andrea’s comfort in his own skin, the quiet confidence and refinement that transcended his family name and football career.

“It’s…”

“Andrea!” Del Piero and Canna descended on Andrea joyfully and tried to drag him off, “Sandro’s got the Wii ready.”

The Milan man sidestepped them neatly, moving fluidly to Vincenzo’s other side, “No, I want to catch up with Jack.” His tone brooked no protest. Undaunted, the tiny tyrants made do with Gigi and dragged him off, the keeper throwing Vincenzo a regretful smile.

Andrea watched the trio pile onto a couch already occupied by Nesta, Maldini and Zambrotta, “Wii! All they’re going to do is rehash the misery of the last European Championships. Boring since you weren’t there.” He grinned at Vincenzo, pleased by his irreverence, “Come, I’ll show you the house.”

Vincenzo started to decline; it wasn’t good manners even if Andrea was Nesta’s best friend. He might even have finished declining if he hadn’t looked at the group on the couch. Gigi was saying something to Nesta and rubbing the defender’s lower back.

The world knew Nesta had been out the previous season with a back injury and Vincenzo certainly wouldn’t deny the man comfort. He doubted that Gigi’s circling fingertips could top anything surgery and rehabilitation had already offered the defender. But he was sure Nesta didn’t need to writhe under the keeper’s touch or look at him with that intimate half smile.

 _“Ricchioni,”_ Andrea’s light tone robbed the word of insult. “They’ll be visiting for hours, come, I’ll show you all Sandro’s secrets.”

It was a better option than standing in the corner and hoping Gigi remembered him. Vincenzo let Andrea tug him out of the room. Fabio leaned across Nesta on the couch and spoke to Gigi, the three of them dissolving into laughter. The keeper didn’t notice him leave. Miserably, Vincenzo reminded himself how alien to Gigi’s habits conducting a public seduction would be even if Nesta was interested.

Andrea detoured into the kitchen and emerged with an open bottle of wine, “Now, we’re ready!” The midfielder took Vincenzo’s wrist in his free hand. “Come!”

“And thirty pieces of Abercrombie and Fitch, can you believe? It’s a gross insult to Italian fashion…” Forty five minutes and most of the bottle later Vincenzo had met Nesta’s pets, admired his collection of football shirts, seen the underwear tossed on the floor of his bathroom and been shown all his clothes, including the drawer of novelty boxers. Vincenzo was sure he’d spend the next decade blushing whenever he saw the Milan defender.

“One more stop,” Andrea was tottering, causing Vincenzo to wonder how much he’d imbibed before liberating the current bottle. “You’ll loooovve this!” He pushed open a door to a bedroom decorated in soft blue tones. “Sit,” he swept Vincenzo’s feet from under him in a move that would have earned a straight red and plopped down beside him.

The Juventus man started in surprise. Large mirrors dominated the spaces just above the bed and the dressing table facing it. From his position he could see his reflection in both.

“Decadent, yes?” Andrea slid closer, melding against Vincenzo’s side. He laughed softly, “Imagine what Sandro gets up to in here.”

Vincenzo didn’t want to; he was still regretting the line crossed back in Nesta’s bathroom, “We shouldn’t…”

Andrea slithered into Vincenzo’s lap, grinding against him and licking at the hollow of his throat, “Jack…shut up.”

Later on Vincenzo wondered why he hadn’t immediately booted Andrea off him. He didn’t want anyone but Gigi and wasn’t even attracted to the midfielder. Practicalities, however, momentarily took a back seat to warm lips, roaming hands that knew what they were doing and the heady knowledge that his idol seemed to be attracted to him. He remained convinced that he would have stopped it himself if Gigi hadn’t interrupted.

Vincenzo hadn’t heard his keeper come in but he was suddenly there, yanking Andrea off him. Ominous silence filled the room as Gigi held the midfielder round his throat, fingers fluttering against the pulse there. Vincenzo stared up at them flushed and panting, unwillingly and inconveniently aroused.

“What’s going on?” The tension in room leapt up ten degrees, in Vincenzo’s opinion, at Nesta’s arrival. The Milan man arched an eyebrow at the scene, in spite of his predicament Vincenzo found time to wonder if eyebrow maneuvers were specially taught to defenders. “Trouble, Gigi?”

With a last caress of the pulse at Andrea’s throat the keeper shoved him toward Nesta. The midfielder kept his feet more nimbly than a drunken man had a right to in Vincenzo’s opinion. Andrea backed snugly against Nesta’s chest. Vincenzo’s eyes widened as the defender snaked an arm round Andrea, his hand sliding down to cup the midfielder’s cock possessively. Little gasps of arousal left Andrea and Vincenzo’s lips simultaneously.

The Juventus forward glanced up at his lover, ashamed of his weakness. Gigi’s eyes were icy as he wrapped a hand in Vincenzo’s hair and twisted painfully.

“I’m sorry,” he’d betrayed his lover and abused Nesta’s hospitality by poking round his home and, effectively, playing with his toys.

Gigi’s only reply was to kneel on the bed, straddling Vincenzo’s hips. The forward was hazily aware of Nesta stroking Andrea, the shorter man squirming and panting. Gigi reclaimed his attention by tugging Vincenzo closer by his hair and rubbing his leather clad crotch against the forward’s cheek. The act was base, animalistic domination, a clear statement of ownership before others and it made Vincenzo ache with desire.

“Gigi, please…”

Nesta laughed and led his midfielder to the door, “Enjoy it, Gigi.”

“Suck,” the keeper unzipped his leather pants before the door was completely closed. Vincenzo bent his head to the hardening cock, eager to dispel the anger and jealousy with pleasure. He flicked his tongue across the tip, teasing the slit before exploring the head with his tongue. His lips slid further down and Gigi moaned, thrusting deeper into Vincenzo’s mouth. Encouraged, Vincenzo reached for his lover, intent on tugging Gigi’s pants off his hips. Gigi pushed him roughly away and zipped himself up again.

Vincenzo was bereft, confused and aroused. He wanted to touch Gigi, to please him and to make sure he knew that Andrea didn’t and couldn’t mean a thing to him. His keeper stood over him, a bloody wet dream in his leather pants and torso hugging shirt. Vincenzo reached out imploringly. Gigi countered the gesture with one of his own pressing a finger to his lips, “Shhh.”

Vincenzo sat up straight, his palms flat against his thighs, at attention and relaxed at once. When Gigi gave that sign there was no ambiguity; expectations were clear, Vincenzo was to focus and obey.

“Strip and kneel on the bed, facing the wall.”

Vincenzo complied quickly, his cock almost painfully erect as he knelt. He glanced at the mirror above the bed, surprised and pleased with his reflection. His skin was flushed and damp with desire, his eyes wide and dark. The glimpse he caught of his keeper seemed pretty damn appreciative as well.

Gigi was busy just out of the mirror’s view even with Vincenzo straining his neck. When he was permitted to turn around two items lay on the bed. The first was familiar, soft leather cuffs with a foot of chain between them. They’d used it in their play many times. The second was new and straight out of Vincenzo’s fantasies.

The whip had a leather handle and three feet of braided moose hide ending in a knot and tassel tip. Vincenzo’s breath caught in his throat. This had been his fantasy ever since Gigi had once playfully smacked his ass after sex. They had experimented with spanking and even paddling but Gigi had been reluctant to go further. Hard on the heels of his awed delight came the question of why his keeper had brought these things to a casual evening at Nesta’s anyway.

“You set me up!”

Gigi smiled ruefully, “Guilty, though,” he traced Vincenzo’s cheekbone with the whip handle, “I’m hoping you’ll agree the end justified the means in this case.”

Vincenzo turned involuntarily and kissed the whip handle, “What will the end be?”

Gigi stared; shifting a bit as his trousers suddenly became far too tight. His voice was breathless when he spoke, “What’s your word?”

Vincenzo shuddered, “My word is _limonata_.”

Gigi set the whip aside and fastened his forward into the cuffs. Vincenzo tested their limits with a tug and waited while Gigi rearranged the pillows half way down the bed.  
At Gigi’s instructions Vincenzo knelt on the pillows, facing the mirror above the bed.

“Touch yourself. Start with your nipples.”

Vincenzo’s large hands cupped his chest, massaging his pectorals for a moment before rubbing his nipples. He licked the tips of his fingers and teased the sensitive peaks circling, twisting and pinching. His cock leaked against his stomach, aching for attention. But Gigi was watching and that was all that mattered. Vincenzo could see his keeper’s reflection, his eyes hot and his pants strained tight over his crotch. The mirrors made Vincenzo feel curiously bold; his shyness and insecurity about his body banished to some dim corner of his mind. He scratched his nails over his nipples, head falling back with a moan. His hips thrust forward, cock humping the air. His nails trailed lower, ghosting over his ribs and stomach. Gigi moved behind him; he picked up the whip and spoke.

“What’s your word?”

“My word is _limonata._ ”

He was surprised when the whip whispered rather than screamed through the air. The first blow landed on Vincenzo’s shoulder like an unexpected drop of steaming water. He was startled, the back of his hand brushing against his erection. Gigi alternated blows on each shoulder while Vincenzo took himself in hand. He circled the head, smearing the pre-cum round; he wasn’t an imaginative man but he could swear his cock gave a cheer of relief.

Gigi switched to his thighs just as Vincenzo stroked himself base to tip. Every sensation there was different and deeper; his skin softer and wet with exertion, the touch a lover’s hot tongue magnified a million times. In the mirrors’ reflections he watched Gigi watch him. Little red welts crisscrossed his pale thighs and without realizing it he’d spread his legs wider and pushed backwards, offering himself to his keeper.

The first blow on his ass nearly undid him. Vincenzo collapsed onto one forearm, forehead pressed against it, still working his cock desperately. He groaned with each slap of the whip on his skin and realized he was begging for more. He couldn’t see a thing but he was awash with sensation; pain, pleasure, trust and love burning so hot within him he’d either release or explode.

At the next kiss of the whip Vincenzo came. Pain and excitement blazed through every nerve like an electrical charge. He collapsed on the bed, semen leaking through his hand onto the sheets. For long moments he lay still, overwhelmed by his body’s response.

When he came to Gigi was touching him, slick fingers circling his anus and sliding in roughly. He lifted his leg, bent at the knee and moaned as his keeper entered him. This was definitely for Gigi; the keeper fucked him quickly and brutally, yelling his pleasure in deliciously vile language. The leather of his pants chafed at the bruised skin of his ass and Vincenzo knew he would be sore for days. He was hard again, pushing back against Gigi with abandon, hand seeking his cock.

Gigi was quiet for a long time after they finished; Vincenzo wrapped loosely in his arms. The forward felt thoroughly well used and utterly treasured. Well content, he grinned to himself.

Without opening his eyes Gigi groaned, “I can _hear_ you beaming.”

“Can’t help it, happy...”

“I do my best,” he burrowed tiredly against Vincenzo’s shoulder. “By the way, look in my pocket.”

“Sorry?”

“Pocket,” the keeper lifted his hip. “Now.”

Vincenzo worked his fingers into the pocket with difficulty, grumbling good naturedly. He sat up in surprise as the silver link bracelet slid out of the keeper’s pocket, “Gigi?”

The keeper sat up and reached for the bracelet, locking it round his lover’s wrist. A small football charm near the clasp was inscribed, December 2009. “Just so you’ll always remember tonight…and that you’re mine. Merry Christmas, Vincenzo.”

“As though I could forget,” Vincenzo kissed him warmly, “I just wish my gift for you wasn’t back in Torino.”

“I know I’ll love it,” Gigi pulled his forward down to the pillows and claimed another kiss, “But it won’t compare to the gift you’ve already given me tonight.”

The next morning Gigi hustled Vincenzo out of bed around the bum crack of dawn and had stripped the bed and changed the sheets by the time the forward was out of the shower. They found Nesta and Andrea in the kitchen, both leisurely getting outside of croissants and cappuccino.

They shared breakfast, the newspaper and sporadic conversation about the league table. Nesta…Sandro mentioned that their traveling companions were sightseeing round some of Fabio’s old Inter stomping grounds. Andrea speculated about the possibility of them being found safe and sound before the Derby della Italia. Vincenzo, perched on the very edge of his chair, tucked away a croissant accompanied by the cheerful, if subversive, vision of both his captains thoroughly gagged by Inter scarves.

Later on Sandro and Gigi dug the keeper’s car out from under that morning’s snowfall while Andrea bundled Vincenzo into his coat and scarf.

“I owed him a favour,” Andrea shrugged and smiled by way of explanation. Vincenzo touched the heavy silver bracelet under his coat and mused that _he’d_ been the one richly repaid.

“Come again,” Sandro’s smile encompassed them both.

Gigi waited until they were alone in the car to murmur wickedly, “We will…over and over and over…”


End file.
